


The Wait

by rosepose



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: M/M, Merlin Waiting for Arthur Pendragon's Return (Merlin), Modern Era, Post-Episode: s05e13 The Diamond of the Day, Reincarnation
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-11
Updated: 2019-09-30
Packaged: 2020-10-14 11:09:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,504
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20599781
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosepose/pseuds/rosepose
Summary: Merlin has waited 1500 years for Arthur's return.But what if what he's looking for is right in front of him?"The crystals showed him why he needed to stay. He saw wars with flying carriages, villages decimated. He saw citadels that reached the sky. All of it his future. All of it his destiny. That word again. What was he, and what could he be, without Arthur?"





	1. Chapter 1

Merlin awoke to a chilling breeze. He must have opened the window in his sleep. He shuddered, seeing his own breath in front of him. Despairing at the thought of bare feet on such a cold floor, he magicked the window closed. 

The air was still unwelcome, but he lacked the focus for a spell to change the temperature, so he settled for turning the radiator on high. Merlin hid under his blankets and sighed. He had the same dream every night. Arthur’s face. Every night for over a thousand years he dreamt of Arthur. It’s not that he didn’t want to let go. He just couldn’t. He had to keep Arthur with him wherever he went.

That was why Merlin was still alive. Pure stubbornness. In all those years and years and years, he never let himself age too much, because he wanted to be exactly the Merlin that Arthur left behind. 

His mind was like a broken record. And he could fix it. If he really, really wanted to, he could. But he didn’t. And he wouldn’t have.

In the beginning, living was simple. He went to villages to help the sick and injured, never straying too far from Camelot in case of Arthur’s return. The hardest part was the death. It was all around him, until there was no one left who knew him when he was just a boy in a kerchief. Just an awful servant and his best friend, the king. 

Gaius came first and was the hardest to stomach. He thought the pain would never fade. In a manic despair, he committed himself to reading every single book Gaius owned. After a month, he was finished and longed for something else to fill the hole in him, the one which widened by the day. He spent weeks in the Valley of the Fallen Kings, staring into the crystals. It was the only place he could see them. In that cave, no one was truly lost to him.

The crystals showed him why he needed to stay. He saw wars with flying carriages, villages decimated. He saw citadels that reached the sky. All of it his future. All of it his destiny. That word again. What was he, what could he be, without Arthur?

Merlin was about to resign himself to sleep once more when his phone shook on the nightstand. A text.

_ I know it’s late but I need to know _

He stared at it for a moment. He wanted to open it. He wanted to write something back that could reassure him. But it would be a lie. And he’d told enough lies. 

Merlin was one thousand five hundred and twelve when a man sat down next to him in a pub. The year was 2012. Merlin had grown a beard, although it was not nearly as impressive as the one he had under his aging spell. He was thinking, as usual, about Arthur, about the times he’d taken for granted in his youth. 

_ He had been nursing a beer, but when he looked down, his glass was empty. The man next to him said something that Merlin couldn’t quite make out. When he looked down again, his glass was full. _

_ “Thanks,” he muttered. _

_ “What’s your name?” the man asked, forcing Merlin to acknowledge him.  _

_ Usually, Merlin would lie and said his name was Arthur. Nobody was called Merlin. Except for, well, Merlin. But on this particular night, he decided he didn’t care. “Merlin.” _

_ The man chuckled a little bit. “Merlin? Really?” _

_ “Really really.” _

_ “You’re named after a very powerful sorcerer.” _

_ Merlin smirked a little. This is when he actually looked up. The man was, by every definition, beautiful. He had dark hair, even darker than Merlin’s, and he smiled like he thought everything in the world was exactly as it should be. That was interesting. “I am a very powerful sorcerer.” _

_ “Are you going to cast a spell on me, then?” _

_ Merlin smiled. Properly smiled. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d done that. “I could,” he said, pulling out money to cover the stranger’s selfish act of kindness, “but I don’t need to.”  _

He left two things at the bar that night: a five pound note and a confused man.

On the way home that night, he thought about that guy. He played the conversation over in his head again and again. Merlin had always known he liked men, but that part of him was hidden away. It needed to be, what with all the history he’d been through. Although, it was hard to pursue anyone for too long because he would always be reminded that he could never age. Not until Arthur returned.

Maybe the guy with the black hair was worth another drink, though.

So, he went back to that bar the next night and found out his name was Tom. And soon after, Tom was introduced to Merlin’s flat.

Then Tom was sleeping in Merlin’s bed.

And it all happened so fast that Merlin couldn’t really understand what was going on. What had he been feeling? It was familiar, yet new. 

Soon, he came to be comforted by the feeling of Tom’s arms around him. He wondered if that was always what he wanted from Arthur. To be held. 

Tom was an English teacher. He worked with primary school children. He had patience and compassion and all the things Merlin didn’t know he’d been missing all these years. Waiting. Just waiting. What if he’d been missing out on things like this? 

_ “I work in a library.” Merlin had said one night. He looked up, only to remember you can’t see stars in the city. _

_ “Oh, interesting.” _

_ “It’s quiet. And still.” _

_ “Have you got many friends?” _

_ “I used to. It’s just…” _

_ “What?” _

_ Merlin looked at Tom. “They’re gone now.” Sensing pity, he continued, “But I like being on my own. I don’t...like people.” _

_ “Not even me?” _

_ “Except you.” _

Merlin stared at his phone now, in 2013, the room still blisteringly cold. Tom needed to know. He needed to know if Merlin still wanted to be with him. Of course he needed to know. Merlin needed to know too.

It had been six months of hot and cold. Merlin was always fickle, never wanting to acknowledge that they had something special. The word boyfriend sounded odd to his ears. Maybe he was just old. 

Their first date had been to the cinema. An activity that Merlin had acknowledged as boring, but sought no alternative for. 

_ “It’s not boring,” Tom had protested mockingly, “just predictable.” _

_ “Have you got a better idea, then?” Merlin challenged.  _

_ “No.” _

It was a horror movie, and Merlin embarrassed himself by grabbing onto Tom’s arm whenever there was a jump scare. (Something he was teased relentlessly about afterwards.)

After that, everything was just easy. Familiar. Merlin had never felt familiar with anyone. Not since the old days. 

Suddenly, Merlin’s legs were dangling over the bed, and his chest was exposed to the air. He shuddered, and clamored to find a jumper to cover himself with. He grabbed a coat and slid his shoes on before leaving his little flat behind. 

Merlin had never taken the train at one-thirty in the morning, but there were enough seats open for someone to lay down across them, an idea that some were finding to be practical. He watched his reflection in the curved window opposite him, the way it warped his face like a funhouse mirror. It seemed almost fitting that it was this odd, distorted Merlin staring back at him. 

The Merlin from fifteen hundred years ago would never have done this. And now he was...changed. And he couldn’t understand what he was feeling. 

Merlin hesitated at the door. Was he really about to do this? His body seemed to be acting of it own volition, and he found himself knocking four times.

“Merlin.”

“Hi.”

“What are you doing here?”

“You said...you needed to know.”

“Merlin, it’s like two in the morning—”

“I know. I know what you...you said...”

“Then tell me.”

Merlin stepped forward and kissed him. 

And as they kissed, the hairs on the back of Merlin’s neck stood up. He saw Arthur. It wasn’t a memory, it was clear as day, as if he were seeing him again, anew. 

As his lips continued searching, tongue prodding, teeth grazing, he felt the door shut behind them.

He saw Arthur rise from the lake of Avalon. He heard his name, whispered, by a voice that no one in the world could replicate.

“Merlin.”


	2. Chapter 2

Merlin woke up in a different bed. He didn’t even have to open his eyes to know. Everything just felt off. Someone’s arm was splayed across his chest. He took a deep breath and opened his eyes. Everything looked different in the light and it seemed that he’d forgotten something important. 

He said a few words to make Tom’s arm hover so he could slide out of the bed undetected. What was it? He’d seen it so clearly. And yet it left as quickly as it came. As if he’d seen something he wasn’t supposed to. 

He looked down at Tom and wondered if he’d made a mistake. It wasn’t the first time he’d spent the night there, but this time seemed different. Binding. He felt as if agreeing to be with Tom would mean agreeing to stop waiting for Arthur. And he could never do that. 

He waited one and a half millennia for one person, and that person had not yet come. All the same, looking at the man had an effect on him, something resembling nostalgia with a bright newness that he’d forgotten in his youth. 

Tom mumbled something in his sleep. “Merlin.”

Someone said his name last night. That’s what it was. A whisper just like that, but someone else. The more Merlin tried to recall, the farther the memory escaped from him, until it was only a thought—a memory of a memory. 

He thought to lay back down and forget about it—he missed the warmth of the bed already—but he was overcome with a restlessness that he couldn’t still. Merlin checked his phone. His shift started in an hour. He didn’t really have a choice but to leave. 

He wanted to leave a little note. Something sweet. Merlin had no paper, so he settled for a text: 

_ Gone to work. Sweet dreams. _

As an afterthought, reaching for the door, Merlin mumbled a spell. Now, Tom would actually have sweet dreams. He heard a hum of contentment escape from the man as he crept through the door, and he smiled to himself. 

~~

The quiet in the library always stilled his mind when nothing else could. It was always a bit annoying that he couldn’t actually read on the job, but he’d gotten over that years ago. Since he’d stopped himself from aging, he tended to cycle through jobs every couple of years. Librarian was always a favorite of his. 

He was back home in the flat already; he couldn’t even remember the shift. His mind was elsewhere. Perhaps it was juvenile to be fixated on a guy. Then again, he’d been fixated on the same one since before plumbing was invented. 

It was a ritual of Merlin’s to check the Lake of Avalon every day, but he moved away from there years ago. The legends and festivals and tourists didn’t help. His move to London didn’t mean forgetting. It just meant heaps of guilt for Merlin.

He reached for the wooden box on his bookshelf and opened it. Inside was a mirror, which he’d enchanted. He could always see the lake with it, wherever he was. To his dismay, nothing looked different. Same old lake, albeit very windy.

But just as he started to put it back, something happened. Something glistened. Just for a moment, something glistened in the water. It was hard to see. Everything was dark. (He made a note to stop waiting until after dark to do the check-ins, but he hated seeing people loitering around a place he considered sacred.) 

He heard thunder, and the wind and rain stirred the water in the lake. Everything was confusing, shrouded in darkness except for that little glinty...thing. What was it? It was there, so close to the shore. 

Finally, a flash of lightning lit up the scene. 

Merlin dropped the mirror. He couldn’t catch his breath. His knees weakened and he fell to the floor. 

He’d seen it. He’d really seen it. 

The sword forged in a dragon’s breath had returned.

~~

Merlin was startled by the sound of his phone. He muttered a nearly inaudible “sorry” to the people around him, who looked on at him impatiently. He glanced down. 

It was Tom. Reluctantly, he answered, preparing for the worst. “Where are you? I thought you were home. I wanted to surprise you.”

The image of Tom knocking repeatedly and futilely on his door made Merlin’s stomach church with guilt. “I’m...I’m, erm, on a train.”

“Why? Where are you going?”

“To, er, the....country.”

“The country?”

“...Yes.”

“How many hours away is the country?”

“About three.” Merlin heard him sigh through the phone.

“And you didn’t want to tell me where you were going?”

“Well—It was really sudden and I—”

“Merlin.” For a few moments, there was silence. It was a silence so engulfing that Merlin’s ears felt full, and his heart empty. The ambient noise of the train rattling on, delivering Merlin father away from the other end of the call, seemed to cease. “Is there somebody else?”

“Tom…”

“Answer me.”

“I don’t know what to say.”

“You know, Merlin. I had this dream last night. And in the dream, you loved me so much that you waited a thousand years for me. Then I woke up and you were gone. And I realized that the dream could never be real.”

“What do you want me to say?” Merlin was not an idiot. He knew exactly what Tom wanted him to say: that there was no one else, that he loved him. But Merlin had only ever loved a handful of people, and they were long-since dead.

“I guess I have my answer, then.”

The line went dead, but he wasn’t particularly saddened by this development. If all went well, he’d finally see Arthur again. It was a prospect he dare not indulge too much for fear of the pain he might inflict on himself, but he could feel something rising up in him: hope. He did a little spell to make the train go faster. As powerful as he was, he still couldn’t teleport. 

If he closed his eyes, he could see Arthur again. His golden hair and piercing blue eyes and the sharpness of his nose and jaw were all seared into the back of Merlin’s eyelids. He spent so much time memorizing Arthur’s face that he could never forget it, even if he wanted to. He didn’t know what was awaiting him, but he longed to see Arthur’s face with his eyes open. 

It was odd, but Tom had reminded him of Arthur in the beginning, always joking and prodding and bantering. The way he say _ Mer _lin sometimes sent a shiver down his spine. It became too much for Merlin, so one day he said, 

_ “Stop it. Please.” _

_ “Merlin, what is it?” _

_ “No more teasing.” _

_ Without question, or explanation, or even another word, Tom said, “Okay,” as if he knew exactly why. _

Everything was serious after that, and it was manageable. And Merlin did not think of Arthur. He saw brown eyes, a dark mess of curls, and tan skin and he did not think of Arthur. 

But he thought of him now, and could think of nothing else. 

~~

It was still dark when Merlin arrived at the lake. It felt weird to come back here after being away so long. He used to visit obsessively for centuries. He waited through every war, cursing that old dragon for not being more specific. If Albion’s need wasn’t greatest in the second world war, when would it be?

Merlin thought of the movements he’d lived through and felt ashamed. There were so many things he could have fixed with his magic. But he said “the world is not ready,” and it wasn’t. He tried his best to help on the small scale, but he’d still been so engrossed in his delusion that Arthur would spring out of the lake any day that his focus was scattered. 

Merlin remembered the first time he kissed a man. It was 1994 and he’d been roped into some sort of march when someone handed him a sign. 

_ “What are we marching for?” he’d asked. _

_ “To lower the age of consent,” he’d said matter-of-factly._

_ “Isn’t sixteen low enough?” asked Merlin, oblivious. _

_ “For gay men.” _

_ “Oh.” _

_ “You’re cute,” the man had said, “I mean really. Are you single?” _

_ “I mean—yes—well—I’m not…” Merlin’s face felt hot. _

_ “Do you mind if I—what’s your name?” _

_ “Merlin.” _

_ “Do you mind if I kiss you, Merlin?” _

_ Merlin was so bewildered that he could only make what had resembled some sort of noncommittal shrug. In response, he felt lips on his. It wasn’t excessive, but it wasn’t chaste either. It was nice. _

_ “Merlin?” _

_ “Hm?” _

_ “I think you’re in the right place.” _

Merlin still smiled whenever he thought of that. But he could have done something more. He could have. 

Merlin braced himself and walked up to the lake. Every time he looked at it, he saw Arthur’s lifeless body, floating in the seconds before the flames.

The sword was there. He knew it. He could sense it. He went up to the lake’s edge and looked over. He said a few words, frantically, and the thing flew out of the water, piercing the ground next to him. Startled, Merlin fell backwards onto the grass.

He touched the blade as if it were an old friend, ripping it from the earth and testing its perfect balance for himself.

“What are you doing here. Where is your owner now?”

The sword did not answer his question. He remembered the last time he used it, to kill Morgana. He remembered how full of hope he still was in that moment, unaware of the misery that would befall him.

“Arthur, where are you?”

He wrapped the sword in a cloth and wondered how he was going to get such a thing on the train.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warning: mention of suicide

Merlin sat on the floor, sword in front of him. He looked up and imagined Tom knocking on the door. Knocking, knocking, knocking. It had been two weeks since then.

The longer he looked at the sword, the more despair he felt. It was just a reminder of everything he didn’t have. He was a dragonlord without a dragon, a servant without a master, and a Merlin without a Tom. 

He was...obsolete.

Merlin wasn’t expecting to miss Tom as much as he did. Of course, now he thought Merlin was cheating on him with some mysterious bloke in “the country.” Stupid. He realized that being alone is not a desirable fate. It wasn’t actually fun to live a life devoted to a person he wasn’t even sure would return. 

He eyed the sword. Merlin was fairly certain nothing could kill him. He’d lived through plagues and fought in wars, always emerging unscathed. One time, he even got shot in the stomach by a musket. He didn’t even have a scar. If there was one thing that could kill him, though, it would be that sword. He would suffer the same fate as Arthur. 

He shivered at the thought.

What if Arthur never came?

Or worse, what if he came in another thousand, ten thousand years? How much agony could Merlin endure?

He stood up, raising the sword up to the light. He felt sick, as if the thing was mocking him. He reached for the cloth to sheathe it in and stowed it under the couch before collapsing into a chair.  
Then, he did something he hadn’t done in a long time:

He cried.

Sobs wracked his body and his fingers dug into the fabric of the chair, ripping and tearing until he could feel the threads coming loose.

He screamed and watched with a morbid delight as all of his books flew off the shelves. Everything rattled around him, vases and glasses and bowls tumbling and shattering. His vision grew so blurred with tears that all he could see were shapes swirling around him like a cyclone.

Suddenly, something flew, like a projectile and landed with ferocity between his feet. He blinked and saw it was the sword. Everything around him fell at once as he stared at the thing with a new suspicion. He sunk to the floor once more, not bothering to try to pry the thing from the floorboards.

“What do you want?”

Silence.

“JUST TELL ME!” The words erupted from his chest as he put all of his energy into that one question, those three words. Just tell me.

“Freya, why did you give it back? After all these years, why do I need it?”

He stared at his reflection in the blade, and noticed that the reflection was not him, not really. It was a younger Merlin, full of hope and wonder; he could see it in the eyes.

The image in the blade changed, and he could see Arthur. He was finally seeing his face again, and it wasn’t in his mind.

But before he had the chance to savor the beauty of Arthur’s face, another appeared, for a second. 

It was Tom.

Merlin blinked, and it was gone.

“No, wait! What does that mean? Why would you show him to me? Bring it back!”  
What role did Tom play in all this? How could he help bring Arthur back?

And how would he even begin to find out now that they were broken up?

~~

Merlin had devised a plan to reconcile with Tom: he was going to tell him the truth. Or, as much of it as he could. He thought he might just call and apologize, but he figured he might be harder to ignore in person. 

He raised his hand to knock, noting the irony that would occur if nobody answered. He did it anyway and waited for what felt like hours. He heard a rustling by the door, and it opened.

“Oh,” Tom said, “Hi, Merlin.” The man crossed his arms, avoiding eye contact.

“I just...I wanted to say that I’m sorry.”

“Sorry.” Tom echoed coldly.

“I didn’t tell you everything, and I—”

“Merlin, if you think I want the details on how you cheated on me after you said…Then you’re more of an idiot than I thought you were.”

Merlin let out bitter chuckle. “Okay, fine. I deserve that.”

Tom moved to close the door. “Is that everything, Merlin?” Merlin shuddered. There it was again, the way he…“Well?”

“I didn’t cheat on you,” Merlin blurted. “You’re the only person I’ve been with in years.”

Tom looked incredulous. “Why would you say that if it wasn’t true?”

“There was someone else. And...he died.”

Tom’s face softened. “Merlin, I’m…”

“I was going to his...his grave.” Merlin supposed that was true, though he never thought of the lake as a grave. “When you called...I thought it wasn’t fair if I...If I still love him. I don’t think you...deserve that.”

Tom glanced behind him, looking a bit uncomfortable. “I...I’m sorry, Merlin. Thank you for telling me.”

“Tom?” called a voice from inside the flat. After a few beats, a woman appeared in the doorway, snaking her arm around Tom’s waist. “Who’s this?”

“This is Merlin, my...friend.”

“Merlin…” she drew the name out on her tongue. “Interesting.” She narrowed her eyes at him, as if she knew exactly what “friend” really meant. But why didn’t he tell her?

Merlin wanted to leave immediately but found that his feet were too heavy to lift. He stared ahead. “Merlin, this is Sasha. My girlfriend.” So she was a girlfriend and Merlin was a friend?

Merlin was thoroughly put off by this. Don’t say it. Don’t say it. “Well...that was quick.” Dammit. Tom looked embarrassed. You should be, thought Merlin.

“W-we’ve known each other for a while. She just moved back to London and…”

“Right,” said Merlin. “Well, I be off.”

“Right, of course.” Tom said with relief. “I’ll see you soon.”

“Mhm. Yes. Soon.” Merlin focused on Sasha’s arm, which seemed to be pulling Tom back inside. He wondered for a moment what they were hurrying back to. He looked up and noticed a faint golden glint in her brown eyes. She smirked at him triumphantly, happy to be stowing away her new prize. “Bye,” he muttered.

The door closed with a click. 

This was going to be harder than he thought. 

~~  
Was Tom bi? He’d never said anything about Sasha before. He’d talked about his exes and did not mention her. Or any other women.  
Something was not adding up, and Merlin was going to find out what it was. Tom was important, not just because he could have been the key to finding Arthur, but because Merlin deeply cared about him. Sasha wasn’t sitting right with Merlin, and he needed to know why.

Merlin felt a bit ashamed for what he was about to do, but he deemed it necessary. He rummaged through his dresser to find the shirt that Tom had left there. It was an oversized blue jumper that looked adorable on him. It made Merlin think of bringing him tea on a winter morning and him using his sleeves to hold the mug because it was too hot. He thought of how easily he slid in and out of it and hugged it to his body like a second skin when he was cold. 

He took it into the bathroom with him and spoke a language he’d learned so long ago. The mirror warbled so he could see into Tom’s bedroom. He was in bed, asleep. Sasha wasn’t far, sitting up next to him on the part of the bed formerly known as “Merlin’s side.” She was on the phone and spoke in a low voice.

“Yes, Papa. Papa, I promise everything is going to plan. It’s going to happen. I just need time. It’s a delicate thing, okay? You don’t need to repeat the thing about the stakes, Papa.”

What was she on about? 

Beside her, Tom stirred, asking, “Mm, who’s that?”

She put a hand on his forehead. “Sleep,” she said. And he did. Without a word of protest or a look of confusion, his head dropped back, returned to slumber once more. 

“No, he doesn’t remember,” she continued, “I’ll make sure. Okay. Bye.”

Merlin reversed the spell and looked at himself once more. “You’re not making this easy, are you?” he wondered aloud.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, and thanks so much for taking the time to read. Please leave a comment or kudos if you liked it, because seeing them really makes my day. More to come. Thanks, rosepose.


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